#but it’s such a stupid fucking system that falls apart at the slightest prodding because first of all

[sepulchritude]

Sometimes I can’t help but remember the time my less-transphobic brother asked me in one of those quiet talking-about-life moments that if trans people are this or that gender, what gender are they attracted to?

And I was like oh! This was a question I also had when I was brand new to trans stuff! So first, gender and sexuality are different things, right, and—

And he interrupted with “I don’t believe that.”

And I was just so. Well then how the hell do you expect me to answer your question. You asked me. What do you mean “I don’t believe that.” Not even a skeptical “but what about,” just a flat no that’s impossible. So do you not believe gay men exist, asshole? With hindsight and thinking about it more I think I’d have a better idea of how to respond to that, but several drinks in at 2am on christmas eve I had nothing.

“I don’t believe that.” Okay I got nothing for you then bitch. Live in denial and confusion.

#i know now that this is a view some people have #where like ‘attraction to women’ is one of the inherent traits of manhood #which is part of why they’re so disgusted by gay men #because it’s a perversion of what they believe manhood is #and so they see gay men as like. non-men for their attraction to men #but it’s such a stupid fucking system that falls apart at the slightest prodding because first of all #if gay men aren’t men then what the fuck are they? women? that would imply that you as A Man should want to fuck them #so ​if we ban gay men and women from the club of men and women we would need to have at least a 3-4 gender system to accommodate that #and i KNOW the level of heteronormative gender koolaid you’re on would rather kill itself than have more than just a man/woman gender binar #so the only logical conclusion is that gender and sexuality must not be linked #simply because we know gay people exist #so tl;dr the answer to your question abt trans people is Stop Being Homophobic #sepulchritudinous

[ourladytamara]

Contraband (3.1k words)

Tamara  3/23/2021 - @_ourladytamara

cw’s: CNC, vomit, throatfucking, betrayal, systemic/state violence, demons, gross alien horsecock, guns (but no live rounds)

With trembling motions you shuffle to the front of your apartment and lean against the door, draped in the moonlight seeping in from the single, prison-like window behind you. You’d woken up mere minutes ago to the unmistakably stomach-churning clack of Demonic heels marching up your domicile block’s central stairway, and already the fear’s driven you to sweat. Blocks like these were explicitly human-only, servicing the slaves in the surrounding ammunition plants; Demonic hooves never graced the overcrowded slum without very compelling reasons.

Unfortunately for you, they clearly had one. Their steps were audibly burdened, heavier than the freakish things usually sounded as they marched over the shoddy linoleum flooring. A glance back at the clock read 2:30 AM – you had work in three and a half hours. Nausea struck like a knife. It cut deep and quick into your stomach as you pulled back from the doorway – just in time to jump against the body of your roommate, Ninety-Seven.

That wasn’t actually her name, of course, just like yours wasn’t actually Twenty-Two; it was easier to say than your full designations of 117-654-882-28-97 and 009-655-119-18-22, respectively. Unlike you, though, Ninety-Seven refused to tell you her actual, human name, adamant on her designation. She always weirded you out, obviously still doing so after waking up in the dead of night. Still, she told you she’d been here for years longer, and you chalked her high strangeness to the insurmountable trauma certainly weighing on her young mind.

“Why are you awake, Twenty-Two? It’s just some commotion, isn’t it?” she asked, only the slightest twinge of sleep in her words.

“Ninety, are you fuckin’ for real? Listen.” you hiss, gesturing for her to approach. For a moment she seems to hesitate, fixated on your hand. She shakes her head and comes closer, pressing her ear to the door as you’d been seconds earlier while you hold her shoulder. She cocks her eyes, turning to a scowl; you can hear the Demonic footsteps even standing, now.

“I… okay? What’s the problem?” she replies, almost… befuddled by something. You don’t understand.

“Do you not hear the literal Demons goose-stepping up our stairwell? Why the fuck would they be coming in here so -”

Before you can even finish speaking the alarms begin to blare. You’d lived here a year without even hearing them, and the instant they begin your mind starts to panic. It’s nothing like a human warning signal – it’s essentially a mechanical caterwaul, like the dying yell of someone caught in a machine and ground into paste. Every second it throbs against your skull.

“- early.”

Ninety-Seven looks up at you and widens her eyes, as if elated. The noise blocks your ability to yell at her, every word from your lips now totally drowned beneath the din. You gesticulate, pleading physically where your verbal ones had fallen short.

Without another word she opens her mouth and speaks in tune to the Demonic voice now echoing off every surface.

“BADH AN MARAB QA-ALADAV. YA DAEKAVA MA KADAR FA MAKH.

You cover your ears in pain and lean back against the wall, totally overwhelmed by the panic, noise, and exhaustion. Without thinking you dart away from the door, rushing to the pile of loose blankets and pillows allotted as “furniture” by your Demonic overlords. Ninety-Seven cocks her head and tracks you as you move, still repeating the announcement by heart as it begins to loop in English.

“A CONTRABAND SEARCH IS UNDERWAY.” it, and by extension Ninety-Seven, booms. “COOPERATION WITH ONSITE JUDGES WILL BE REWARDED.”

For a minute longer the Hellish alarm wails before its steel throat closes up – only to reveal just how loud the Demonic footfalls outside have truly grown. Each sounds only a single room away.

You shoot a look at Ninety-Seven, a mix of anger and ringing pain.

“You’ve been through this before?” you ask, darting from the pile of pillows you’d buried your head in for safety towards the girl.

“Of course – they used to be a lot more regular.” she replies, rubbing her legs together. “It was a lot more exciting back then, I think.”

Now beside her, you grab her by the shoulder as to speak more quietly. Knocking – on the door beside yours! It snaps you out of the conversation and draws your eyes inextricably to your own apartment’s flimsy defenses. Ninety-Seven stood between it and you, now glaring at you.

“Twenty-Two, I feel like you’re being overly hesitant.”

“ADDAKH!” comes the scream of a Demon in the hallway. “MAR VAL YGDASH.”

Seconds later, a kick, a thud – screaming and heavy footfalls. A gunshot – the screams grow louder, turning to a howl that chills you to the bone.

“O-Overly hesitant? Hello?” you nearly scream-whisper, attention divided. Something wasn’t adding up. “I’m being overly hesitant because,” you lean in, “there are fucking armed Demons outside our door? N-Ninety, are you fully awake?”

“I’m much more than fully awake, Twenty-Two – I just think this level of recalcitrance towards our Owners is undue.”

Every hair on your neck stood on end. Few things bothered you worse than hearing another human say that word, call them that name – and now it was coming from the only one you thought you’d be able to trust in the nightmare you now knew as life. Nausea reared its ugly head through the swamp of anxiety now living inside you. Next door, the Judges finished their grim duty; their hooves clacked along the red linoleum in the hallway once again.

“W-We have to… o-oh, my God, we have to do SOMETHING, I -” you mumble. This really sets her off.

“No. I’ve heard enough – you’re just like the other ones, aren’t you?” she mutters in reply, pulling away from you and shaking her head. “Just like the ones on level 29, right?”

You blink. You… you knew a couple on level 29. They were odd, definitely unlike you – clearly victims of Hell’s penchant for population shuffling, from Iran or something, you were never sure – but one of the only other friendly faces in the basalt-and-tallow sarcophagus you were forced to call home. During your fifteen minutes of allowed recreation you’d visited them a few days ago.

Something sinks like a rock in your stomach.

“N-Ninety-sev-”

“Is religious literature permitted material, Twenty-Two? Is it?”she barks, far louder than you would’ve dreamed of being knowing who was standing just outside your thin walls. This draws the attention of the Judges, clearly; the footsteps quiet as they whisper among themselves for some time.

They’d shown you their copy of the Quran, hastily handwritten into a falling-apart notepad – their one belonging save what Hell gave them.

A knock on your door. You can’t move, you can’t think – tears well up in your eyes.

“ADDA-” begins the Demon, but her shout is interrupted as Ninety-Seven opens the door.

“Oh, good! You came quickly – I’m glad the report made it in time.”

In your door stood a hulking Demon. She was clad entirely in some kind of black metal and blacker robes, flesh almost entirely concealed. A dim red glow emanated from the lenses of her metallic facemask; you could see muscles rippling beneath the thinner parts of her robe, flexing with each subtle motion.

“Huh?” she replies, regarding the girl for a moment like one would regard a particularly-stupid dog.

A gauntlet-clad hand shoves her out of the way, long finger on the trigger of her shotgun and totally ignoring the girl as she began to undress. You panic, yelping in fear and leaping away from the Demon as she steps closer. An instant later, a gunshot rings out – are you dead? Is it over?

No, that would be far too easy, sadly, and you buckle over in pain as the rock salt pellets slam into your back. It digs into your flesh and forces you to the floor like a hogtied animal. Fuck, you thought the salt shotgun thing was a myth. In a few seconds the pain of impact begins to subside and the burning begins. Every inch of your back is on fire; you grit your teeth and crawl into a fetal position, desperate to undo your jumpsuit yet horrifyingly aware of what undressing in a room filling with Demons would entail.

“Ooooohhhhh, that was you?” replied a third, smaller being, speaking Demonic as she entered behind a second. Your state-mandated grasp on the tongue was definitely weak, but you could still listen in. “My Cliquemate in block administration told me about some overly-enthused human babbling about contraband in-between mouthfuls of cock.”

“Found it.” said the second Demon, her voice a booming, cavernous depth. They laughed together before a hand from the first, their leader, silenced all of them.

“Stop talking to the fucking animals and search – save your breath for the next hundred and ten levels.”

You lived on the fifth.

A steel-clad fist to your stomach knocks the wind out of you and intensifies every ache and burn inside your overwhelmed body. The leading Demon looms high above you, a red-glinted flashlight shining from her shoulder through your tiny shared bedroom, toilet, and closet. Jumpsuits, ration tins, tissues, lubricant – but no contraband. Other than those sun-bleached and coffee-stained pages 24 floors above you, you hadn’t seen an unapproved object in what felt like years.

It didn’t stop them, though. By now Ninety-Seven was already completely nude, a visible line of slick running down her thighs as the two Demons behind the leader began rubbing her with their metallic hands. They prodded at her nipples, slid down her thighs and abdomen toned with years of hard labor; you felt yourself rising to vomit before the leading Judge struck you down again.

“Luckily,” she hissed with a click of her flashlight, “you got stuffed up in here with a delightful little housepet who kept you nice and clean, animal. You ought to thank it for that when we’re through with you.”

“N-Ninety-Seven, what the FUCK?!” you scream, ignoring her words against your own judgment. She doesn’t reply, now taking the third Demon’s fingers into her mouth as she kneels before them on the floor. The Judge grips your jaw in her fingers and pulls your gaze back towards her glowing eyes.

“Clearly she didn’t keep your mind as clean as your living space. What a shame – usually putting you two in a cell kills off resistant personality traits faster than this.”

She brushes a gauntlet against what you now realize is her cock, bulging up against the black fabric of her robe. “Look at this. If it weren’t for your little helper you might’ve been to rebellious to get to taste it. That’d be a shame, wouldn’t it?”

You crawl away in terror, but every tug of your jumpsuit makes the pain in your shoulders and back all the worse. By the time you manage to get an inch away, she grips you by the legs and pulls you back across the linoleum, leaving you between her powerful hooves. From here you can practically feel the heat coming off of her; it radiates like a pot of boiling water even through her armor and padding, most powerfully coming from her crotch.

All this time living in Hell and you’d – rather luckily – had until this point to really look at a Demon up close, let alone prepare yourself for what you inevitably knew came next. Obviously you would’ve preferred to keep it that way; the horror stories you’d listened to for the past years did little to compare to the reality of one standing right above you.

The Judge grips her Hellish leather belt and unhooks it from her waist, dropping the black robe – which you now see is a two-piece loincloth and hood -  around her waist to the ground, landing around your neck like a scarf. Her cock pops out unrestricted with a heavy flop. It’s easily the length of your forearm and definitely thicker, with a dripping, flared head. The entire thing reeks of blood, salt, and some savory alien stench your nostrils struggles to even make sense of. Thick strands of gooey pre drip from her slit, one of them snapping off and landing on your forehead.

“I suppose you’ll need a reward for good behavior, won’t you?” she coos, slinging the shotgun over her shoulder and taking her length in hand. “It’s not often we find an entire domicile level without a single piece of contraband!”

“N-”

She squats onto your face before you can muster a syllable. Her weight is crushing almost immediately, forcing the wind from your lungs as she leans her ass back onto you. The heat is overwhelming; buried between her cheeks you have little option but to struggle with every muscle for breath, her taut asshole pressing into your face closer with every motion. You press your entire face into it without so much as noticing, and before you realize what’s happening, you’re halfway eating her out in confusion.

You can make out a pleased chuckle from above you. The Judge’s ass begins moving rhythmically, her hips grinding into your nose. Flailing, you desperately grab at her cheeks for even the slightest leverage – but you find none, your actions coming off as little more than playful pinching; the Judge pops her hips back triumphantly before rising from your face.

“Ugh. I fuckin’ hate it when they’re too enthusiastic – not like those dipshits.”

Your vision is spinning. In a stupor you manage to slink an eye back far enough to see Ninety-Seven on her knees. With both hands she’s enthusiastically stroking the second, largest Demon off between her tits, the third balls-deep down her throat and forcing her neck to distend in a way you were pretty sure human necks weren’t meant to. Her eyes are wide-open, a deeper satisfaction in them than you’d ever seen on the girl.

By the time you return your gaze upwards the Judge is stroking her cock mere inches from your face. The tip dominates your vision, like the barrel of a loaded gun; you tremble beneath it and mutter to yourself.

“Empress, no wonder you two were so compliant. Whores – like usual.” she hisses, briefly touching the head to your cheek. A thick strand of nigh-opaque pre stretched between your face and her tip as she pulled it away. “You’re far warmer than they usually are, though, pig – keep that up, the fear makes you tighter.”

She grabs your head and spreads your lips. A scream is stifled in your throat as her enormous prick is forced down your gullet, stretching your mouth wide open. In processing, so many years ago, they outfitted you with an adjustable ring-gag to test your gag reflex – that was nothing compared to the sheer girth being forced into you now. It splits you open, fucking your mouth like a pussy; by the time she starts to pull out again you can feel the pulsating heat from her grapefruit-sized balls against your cheeks.

Your stomach growls at the intrusion. Even if you wanted to vomit, there wasn’t much place for it to even go; teary-eyed, mouth filling with water, your gag reflex continues to alert your body to the obvious intrusion even as you lay helpless to it. The Judge grips your head in both hands and adjusts her squat before thrusting forward again. She’s using you like a hole, fucking your tear-and-spit-soaked face like one of their relief stations. Just as you feel you’ve had enough, she forces herself deeper and deeper still. You can practically feel it in your stomach, now, your guts being rearranged from the opposite side. Leathery ball-skin brushes against your chin, slick with sweat and liquids you couldn’t even begin to know the origin of.

A trembling hand once again attempts to brush against her ass in defiance. It’s hard to even get a grip on her, now, hips thrusting forward with reckless abandon as she abuses your mouth. Every thought in your head is systematically fucked out of you; your head drops limp in the Judge’s hands, now relying solely on her to keep you upright. Another glimpse at Ninety-Seven; she’s covered in cum from head to toe, what seemed like gallons of it slowly seeping from her mouth and nostrils as she lay on the floor. The two other Demons stand above her, holding their cocks as they bask in the afterglow.

“Hnnf, fuck, s-stay loose like that for – there we go.”

You’re conscious for just long enough to feel the first jet of cum impact the back of your throat – and feel your vision swim as you run out of air. Everything fades to black. Anxiety, strain, and exhaustion had finally done you in – maybe this was the afterlife, after the Grim Reaper juked you out with the salt shotgun earlier?

You were never that lucky, of course. Points of light trickled into your vision like snowflakes. Your floor, your walls, your grim little existence – it was all still here and you were still on the ground. The Demons are dressed and armed, again; they slink out of the room, chatting quietly, as they return to the stairwell, refusing a further word.

Cum seeps from your mouth and nose. It feels like your entire head is full of the stuff; you learn your stomach is just as packed, brushing a hand against your now-distended and semen-filled abdomen. The motion forces some of it up; you roll to your side and heave, vomiting at long last only to bring up more cum and very little else. It soaks into your jumpsuit and sticks to the skin beneath like glue, your entire upper chest and shoulders coated in it. From the amount on your face, the Judge must’ve cum all over you. You wipe it away from your eyes and onto the legs of your jumpsuit.

Ninety-Seven lays in a heap in front of the wide-open door. She, too, is absolutely plastered in the stuff; it clings to her hair, chest, tits, and face, among others where she’d clearly intentionally smeared it. Her body rises slowly with every tired breath, a deep satisfaction on her cumstained lips. You couldn’t have been out for more than a minute or two, but in that time the snitch had clearly tuckered herself out.

Every bone in your body aches. It goes far deeper, into your very soul itself, a frigid burning that seems to annihilate everything it touches. You’d made it so long, dealt with so much, cried and screamed and panicked so often – all to avoid the fate your one remaining friend gleefully brought upon you. It’s more than violation, more than betrayal; you feel like a match snuffed out in a glass of water, just like Ninety-Seven. Hell had broken you, after it had spent so long trying and failing. A glance at the clock: three AM.

You have work in three hours. You drop your head against the cum-soaked floor and cry.

#millennium penance #subscriber stories

[amidalogicdive]

The Misadventures of a Prince and His Glaive

CHAPTER 11: ALONE (PART2)

Ao3 LINK READ THE CHAPTER HERE

Rating: Mature Relationship: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Nyx Ulric Characters: Noctis Lucis Caelum, Nyx Ulric, Ignis Scientia, Gladiolus Amicitia Additional Tags: Microfic, Prompt Fic, NyxNoct Monthly Challenge, Stupidity, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Lovers, Established Relationship, Misadventures, Bad Luck, Betrayal, Halloween, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Hung Over, Drinking, Hangover, Road Trips, Nightmares, Dreams and Nightmares, Devotion, Acceptance, Sex, Anal Sex, Sex in a Car, Angst, Injury, Major Character Injury, Hospitals, Memories, Feelings Realization, Past Memories

Summary: Nyx remains in the hospital as Noctis continues to examine his feelings for the glaive, and waits for him to awaken.

Excuse me while I interrupt your normal crack fluff for this angsty interlude!

Part 2 of 4

-

Six days.

It could have been six months for all that Noctis was concerned. He hadn’t left the hospital in that time, had barely left the room more than a handful of times when he’d literally had no choice. Most had been for examinations, the doctors running him out to conduct tests and check Nyx status. He’d stopped hoping to hear the words he’d been waiting for that Nyx could be woken up from the coma he’d been put in. For the good of his health, those were the words they had told him too many times as they’d exited the room.

For his health, Nyx must sleep. For his health, Nyx had to linger in this sterile room. For his health, Noctis had to suffer without his calming and reassuring presence…

...and Noctis had started losing hope.

He had been forced to wait, alone, in a precarious balance that messed with his head. Stuck in some odd, indescribable holding pattern, not knowing if Nyx would live or die. A man that was a Hero among glaives and admired by many. Someone that Noctis had been pulled too without thought, never considering where their relationship was heading. It had been fun, an escape… something that he’d made for himself. Now that it was gone? Noctis recognized his emotions for Nyx went far deeper than he’d ever intended for them to go.

Noctis had found himself asking the same question time and time again as he sat in the small, quiet room where Nyx laid. Curled up in the stiff and uncomfortable chair that was provided to guests, he’d decided it was time to analyze his own feelings. Why did his loss hurt so much? Where did his feelings for the glaive end? How could he keep going if Nyx wasn’t there at his side with his sarcastic remarks and tender touches? The deeper he dug, analyzed, and prodded at his thoughts like an open wound; the more he knew there was only one cause. It played on repeat inside his head as he observed the gentle rise and fall of Nyx chest.

I love him. I love him. I love him. 

But, it wasn’t a love of a brother. A friend. Not even a companion. It was an all-consuming, deep and traitorous love that could strengthen or utterly destroy him. At that moment, as Noctis stood there observing the shadows that played across the pulled curtain; he knew if Nyx died it would inevitably shatter him into a million pieces. Knew he would never be able to put himself back together again. So he stood there, his hands clasped together as he chewed on his bottom lip. Noctis waited for those doors to open, sending a silent prayer to Etro. Asking only one thing of her as those words continued over and over in his head, and weary eyes fell closed.

I love him. I love him. I love him. Please, just keep him at my side… because I love him.

“Noct? Highness?”

“Iggy?” Pulling himself out of his thoughts, he glanced at his advisor. Noctis knew how he looked, pale and harried from too many sleepless nights. Too much stress, and too little fresh air. “I’m sorry, I was lost in thought.”

Ignis acknowledged his words, motioning towards the doctor that stood before them. “The medical staff have completed the examination. It will take a few hours for the effects of the medication to wear off, but they have concluded he can be awakened at this time.”

Noctis was quick to look from Ignis to the doctor, a questioning in his eyes. Needing to hear this man say those same words, and it seemed he understood this. “As your advisor has said, Your Highness. His vitals has remained stable for the last forty-eight hours, and all injuries that we felt were life-threatening, seem to be healing sufficiently.” There was a paused, glancing at the watch around his wrist, before speaking again. “His waking will take time.”

“Hours?” He asked.

“Possibly days, Your Highness. With the injuries that he sustained, I’ve seen patients take up to seventy-two hours, or more to finally come too.” Bowing deeply, their eyes met as he righted himself. “We must be contented he will wake, Your Highness.”

Giving a curt nod, he thanked him and then Noctis walked back into the room and to Nyx side. Many of the machines had been removed, and it was easier to pretend that he was simply sleeping like this. “Dusha,” Being careful of the bandages, Noctis ran thin fingers through ashen hair. The words that the doctors had told him days before ran through his head. It was a miracle that he was even alive. Under normal circumstances, anyone who’d sustained such damage would have normally succumbed to their injuries.

Ignis reentered, contemplating the scene for a moment. “Noct, if I may?” Noctis let out a hum, his focus solely on Nyx. “While his ongoing recovering is pleasing to hear, what will Sir Ulric think when he observes you in such a state?” That made the prince look up. “If I may be blunt, you haven't taken proper care over the last week. Knowing that he will not waken within the next forty-eight hours. I must insist you return to your apartment, have a wholesome meal and sleep in a proper bed.”

While Noctis was against the idea, he had done as asked, returning to his home. But only after Gladio and Ignis promised that one of them would remain with Nyx at all times. He would be contacted the moment the glaive demonstrated the slightest indication that he might be waking, and Gladio had taken the first watch. This left Ignis free to take the prince home. Thus assuring that he'd taken a long hot shower, had a proper meal, and slept in his own bed. Noctis had slept most of the day away by the time Gladio had roused him with yet another meal.

He'd also come with news.

Both men had decided Noctis would be banned from the hospital for the rest of the day unless called for. Most of it was spent playing video games and trying to distract himself. Ignis returned that evening, cooking dinner for the prince, before sending him off to bed once again. A few days of proper rest and food had made Noctis feel human again, and still, he waited for any information in regards to Nyx. By the third day, he couldn’t just sit around in his apartment any longer and talked Gladio into taking him back to the hospital. While Ignis wasn’t pleased to see him return, he could appreciate why Noctis felt he should be there.

The two had left, promising to return by morning and once again Noctis was left in the quiet of that tiny room. Nyx sleeping form was his only company as the prince played with his phone, dark eyes straying to the glaves still form. Except he wasn’t still, his eyes fluttered and Noctis jumped up from his seat to cover the insignificant space that stood between them. He reached down to caress Nyx jaw, his thumb brushing tenderly across his cheek. “Dusha, ty menya slyshish'?” There was a sigh, his eyes opening slowly as he blinked a few times. “Nyx?”

It was evident the glaive was still affected by the drugs that ran through his system, along with the lengthy period of sleep. Nyx looked confused for a moment as if he were trying to focus on the face before him. Soon his confusion turned to recognition as he smiled up at Noctis. “Moya lyubov', moya dusha… is it you?”

He couldn’t stop the laugh that left him, a rush of joy and relief flowing through him as tears filled his eyes. “Yes, Nyx. It’s me.” His thumb continued brushing his cheek, and Nyx smiled when Noctis placed a brief kiss on his forehead.

“Hey there, pretty boy. How'd you get here?” At this point drug-hazed eyes had started to wander around, taking in his surroundings. Noctis could see the moment that it clicked, he wasn’t where he thought he should be. “Noct?”

“Stay calm and I'll explain. You have been wounded. Injured during the last attack and Drautos had you rushed back to Insomnia. We are at the hospital near the Citadel, and you’ve been here for about a week and a half.” Needing to know he was actually awake, Noctis leaned over and kissed him. When he felt it returned, he let out a sigh of relief. Pulling apart, he laid his forehead against Nyx' carefully and closed his eyes, despite the fact that tears continued to gather. “I was so frightened. I believed I’d lost you.”

“No, Noct. No. I wouldn't leave you alone.” Raising his arm, Nyx let out a hiss of pain that caused Noctis to pull away. “Oh... fuck, that hurt.”

“Careful!” Noctis laughed, brushing away the tears that streamed down his cheeks. “You haven't even been awake five minutes and you’re already pushing yourself too far.” Kissing him again, the prince placed little pecks to his lips until Nyx was smiling again. “Just relax. How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been trampled by a behemoth?”

“Well, you were…” One brow arched, giving his young lover a look that told him in no uncertain terms that he should continue. “I wasn’t there, all I know is what I heard. Luche was the one who saw it.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, he took the glaives hand with the utmost care and held it. “He told me a few behemoths were causing trouble, and your group had broken off to take them down.”

“I remember that much. There were three near the wall where Crowe and the mages were.”

“Do you remember what happened next?” He shook his head, and Noctis couldn't hold back a frown. “Luche said you came out of a warp, at the same time a behemoth turned to attack. It knocked you away, and you hit the ground at the same time Pelna had attacked. They said you wound up pinned, and then the creature struggled and ended up rolling over you before attacking again.” He watched Nyx closely, hoping to see some form of recognition in his eyes, but there was nothing.

“I don’t know. It's all a blank, but I trust Luche." He noted the mirid of bandages and smirked. "So, how bad am I hurt so I can figure out how much trouble I'm in with you?”

“Glad you're finding humor in this, ass." He huffed, "When I arrived the doctor had already rushed you into an emergency surgery.” Noct's eyes fell, rubbing the hand that held his. “I was so scared, Nyx. They had to keep you in a coma, because of some contusion or damage to your head. The left shoulder was dislocated and your wrist on that arm broke. Your leg was… damn it Nyx, you could have died!”

“I didn’t, I’m still here. I'm lucky.”

"This time."

"You can't think that way." Nyx entwined in fingers with Noct's, squeezing lightly. "You know what I am, what I do."

“I know,” Leaning closer, Noctis kissed him once again. Raising his free hand to Nyx jawline, pale fingers ran through the coarse beard that had grown out a bit since he’d been in the hospital. “I just, I need you to stay alive.” He murmured, meeting the glaives tired gaze. “When it comes to you, permit me to be a little selfish? I can’t lose you, Nyx.”

He could see the joy mixed with pain in the prince's eyes, and it hurt to know he was the reason for that. “All right.” Brushing his lips against Noct's own, he smiled. “I’m yours; you won’t lose me. Not today.”

"Not ever, if I have any say in the matter."

"Brat." But Noct had stood by him through a lot, and that was a hell of a lot more than he'd expected. Feelings he'd long tried to bury flowed to the surface. "My brat."

#logicdive writes #nyxnoct #nyx ulric #Noctis Lucis Caelum #ffxv #final fantasy xv #ffxv fic #ffxv fanfiction #ffxv fanfic #final fantasy xv fic #final fantasy xv fanfiction #final fantasy xv fanfic #gladiolus amicitia #ignis scientia #my fic #The Misadventures of a Prince and his Glaive